


Crash and Burn

by ArtemisBlythe



Series: Not What You Think 'Verse [2]
Category: American Actor RPF, Glee RPF
Genre: Angst, Comfort, FTM, Hurt, M/M, Not what you think, Other, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:25:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisBlythe/pseuds/ArtemisBlythe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six and a bit years after Chris and Trip's idyllic relationship began, things are quite different in the Not What You Think 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash and Burn

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a shameless angsty fic from the Not What You Think 'verse. It's set six and a bit years after the end of NWYT and will probably make you cry. Sorry. It was inspired and titled by 'Crash and Burn' by Savage Garden. I wore out my original CD on that track and I've just replaced it.
> 
> Trigger warnings for graphic self harm from the outset, mentions of domestic violence and non-con and a bit of justified walloping. I just needed to do this. Also smoosh at the end.

Prologue

 

He carefully unwrapped the blade from the fold of paper in which he kept it. It was a piece of script from several months ago.

 

From about the time it all started to get too much.

 

He made certain the edge was clean and then almost smiled at himself for doing so. The idea was to cause damage. Why worry about hygiene?

 

He rolled up his left sleeve and turned his arm so the tender flesh between wrist and elbow-crook was exposed. The last series of lines and hatchings had almost faded to pale pink. He observed them without emotion. Once they were done, they meant nothing to him. Just an area to be avoided until it was clear and then to be used again.

 

He placed the tip of the blade an inch or so away from the healing scars and pressed down gently. He felt his heart speed up slightly in anticipation. Anticipation of the bright pain, the welling red, the release.

 

He paused.

 

His chest was starting to heave with the pressure, the weight that felt as though it would crush his ribcage, that felt as though it would make his head and his heart explode.

 

Without thinking further, he drew the blade towards him, resting his hand on his forearm to steady it, to ensure a clean, straight, deep cut. As he watched the blood blooming forth, he felt a tiny dip in the pressure. Two, three, four more lines and his chest felt lighter, his head clearer. He paused to blot the blood with the pad of toilet paper he had prepared beside him on the windowsill. Lifting it up to look, he wondered if that was enough yet. No, maybe a little more.

 

Five, six and seven.

 

Three more cuts and he felt the tears starting.

 

He pressed the pad to his arm, conscious of the scratching ache that was beginning to radiate from beneath it. He carefully laid the blade down on the windowsill and, maintaining the pressure, hung his head and began to sob.

 

***

 

He didn’t really understand it, what was happening to him.

 

He had been the luckiest person he knew

 

***

 

 

Chris stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the heated rack and rubbing it over his hair before roughly dragging it down his body. As he pushed the hair from his forehead, he opened his eyes and caught sight of himself in the mirror covering the wall in front of him.

 

Allowing the towel to drop to the floor, he touched the bruises at the base of his neck, just below his collarbone. Another under his ribcage on the left and three or four at the tops of his thighs.

 

Those were the worst.

 

The worst because of how they had been sustained and the agony which followed. He instinctively contracted the muscles low in his body and immediately regretted it.

 

Everything hurt.

 

Trying to relax once more, he hissed out a breath and caught his own gaze in the mirror. He looked haunted. Dark shadows beneath his eyes which make up had commented on a couple of days ago. The startings of a furrow between his eyebrows...

 

He felt old.

 

Old and tired and sad and finished.

 

And he wasn't even thirty yet!

 

'You wanna coffee?' He heard Matt yell from the kitchen.

 

'Yes, please!'

 

Matt wasn't all bad. He just got out of control sometimes. Especially when he drank.

 

There were perks to being in a relationship with your executive producer but Chris was beginning to have difficulty remembering what they were.

 

But he didn't know what to do. If he tried to talk to Matt, he just got more violent and pointed out how much Chris needed him and how he'd probably never work in Hollywood again if he did anything rash.

 

Chris felt the familiar lump in his throat and tried to squash down the tears and the frustration as he finished drying himself.

 

'On the table!' He heard Matt call up the stairs.

 

'Thanks!'

 

Chris pulled on his underwear and jeans right there in the bathroom, hurrying back to the bedroom to fling on a long-sleeved shirt and socks before heading downstairs to join Matt for coffee.

 

'Hey sexy!' Matt greeted him in his usual ebullient manner.

 

'Hey.' Chris replied, face already buried in the cup.

 

'You OK?'

 

Chris threw him a look. Matt held his gaze, a whole world of meaning hidden in his eyes.

 

Chris looked down again.

 

Matt never apologised, even when the bruising was perfectly evident. He never paused or stopped when it was plain he was hurting Chris. Matt knew that, after two years, he had Chris exactly where he wanted him. Chris depended on him for his job, for his image as half of one of Hollywood's most perfect couples. Chris' sense of self-worth had been gradually eroded almost without him noticing. Now, he was trapped, without the courage to escape.

 

He barely recognised the person he'd become. Twenty-nine years old, part of TV and movie history. Three Golden Globes, a brace of SAGAFRA awards, two Oscar nominations and a regular series gig. He hosted big events, commanded the best fees and had it all going on. Or so it seemed to the world.

 

In actuality, the whole of his life was acting. He just played a different role depending on whether he was on camera or off. He used to allow himself to remember how things used to be but the body-wracking sobs were too difficult to explain away and it just hurt too much. Now it took all his skills to stop his many personas from shattering, flying apart.

 

'Ready to go?' Matt was asking, all smiles and morning efficiency.

 

'Can I grab some breakfast?' Chris asked.

 

'Pick something up at the studio.' Matt ordered, pushing him towards the door.

 

Chris slammed his coffee cup down on the table and squashed his anger. It would only cause trouble later if he answered back.

 

Sitting in the passenger seat, watching the grey-green landscape roll by the dusty windshield, Chris dreamed briefly of escaping. He allowed a second's thought of what might have been to fleet through his mind before shaking it away. He dug his nails into the network of cuts on the inside of his arm, the pain helping to keep him in the moment and yet curiously detached.

 

Driving past the security checks into the studio parking lot, he grinned broadly at the guards. Walking to their set, he and Matt smiled and chatted to those they passed. Matt sometimes placed a proprietorial hand in the small of his back as they moved off, patted his shoulder as they walked, as though congratulating him, encouraging him to keep up the act.

 

Chris' face returned to neutral as they headed off again. Briefly thinking how he'd brought this all on himself by being so fucking together in the public eye. There was no way he could admit defeat. No way he could countenance failure. He just didn't know how to break any more, the front was automatic and unbreachable.

 

The daily round of rehearsals and shooting was something he could do almost on auto-pilot now. He slid into gear and ran till the day's work was done. At least on set Matt wasn't watching him every second. At least here he was allowed a little freedom to roam. To the canteen, to wardrobe, hair and make up, the lavatory.

 

Matt had removed all the door locks in the house they shared. He decided that as he had full access to Chris' body in the bedroom, there was no need to hide anywhere else in the house. Chris loathed the way he would just barge in, regardless of whether Chris was taking a dump.

 

Before he knew it, the early morning start had turned into coffee time. There was a convenient pause between scenes so Chris went in search of coffee. He was relieved to reach the door without Matt yelling for him to bring a cup back.

 

Checking his watch, he sat at a table near the window, well out of anyone's way. He figured he had ten minutes before he should head back to get his make up done.

 

Ten minutes to breathe.

 

The first sip was like heaven. He let his eyes close and the bitter taste spread over his tongue.

 

A familiar laugh snagged at his ear from across the room. His eyes snapped open and he located the source.

 

He watched, his heart thudding in his chest, too terrified to move.

 

He barely recognised the man from whom the laugh had come. He was older, certainly, but it sat well with him. His hair was thinning and had been cropped close. There was a carefully sculpted beard and his tan threw the blue eyes into sparkling relief.

 

He was standing beside a group of people at the counter and Chris allowed himself a long, greedy look at the rest of him. Broader than he remembered, a little fuller around the waist, a couple of new tattoos on his upper arm and wrist.

 

But the pert nose and firm ass hadn't changed. And the lips still looked full and promising.

 

As if drawn to do so, the figure turned towards Chris and looked directly at him. His brows furrowed as if trying to see him more clearly and then he looked as though he was about to mouth Chris' name. Chris raised his hand the slightest bit in a wave. After saying something hurriedly to his companions, the man strode across to Chris' table, carrying a takeout cup.

 

'Chris? Hey, I didn't recognise you...' He looked shocked, appalled, even, until he tried to cover it.

 

'Hi.' Chris didn't know how to act. This was a part for which he was grossly underprepared. Plus, if Matt found out, things wouldn't go well for him later.

 

'Hi. Can I join you?' The takeout cup was placed down in preparation.

 

'Uh, OK. I can't stay long.' Chris muttered, deliberately not looking up.

 

'How are you?' The head ducked down as if trying to get beneath the very apparent barrier between them.

 

'I'm...' He swallowed.

 

It was now or never. His heart was still pounding in his chest as he raised his eyes and locked them on the gentle, concerned face in front of him; so familiar, once so beloved.

 

'I'm... Trip, I'm...' And he felt his face crumple and his body sag forwards as tears began to silently course down his cheeks.

 

'Jesus...' Trip glanced around, wondering if anyone had seen. Then he stood up and swiftly pulled Chris to his feet and out of a fire escape door to a shaded area near some dumpsters.

 

Chris allowed himself to be dragged, he was almost unaware of what was happening. His sobs remained utterly silent but his eyes were blinded and his upper body rigid.

 

Trip ensured the door was closed before wrapping his arms tightly around Chris' shaking body and just holding him, staring in alarm over his bent head, hoping no-one would come by.

 

***

 

Three years. Three years since the bombshell. The bombshell that Chris had dropped on their apparent domestic bliss. The tentative conversations about how he'd been young when they met and his career was still in its infancy and how he loved Trip but just...

 

Then the more acrimonious conversations about how Chris felt tied down, like he wanted to experience everything before settling. Trip's angry but entirely accurate observation that Chris wanted to simply fuck more guys before settling.

 

And the underlying subtext which neither of them said but which Trip heard over and over in his mind that Chris wanted to fuck more guys who were biologically attached to their own dicks before settling.

 

Trip's entire life had been bracing for moments like this. He was devastated but not surprised. Despite hours of reassurance that it wasn't what was in his pants that Chris had fallen in love with, it was completely expected that at some point it would become an issue.

 

Trip let him go.

 

Three and a half years had been more than he'd ever expected and he felt the tiniest bit vindicated when it came to an end. He did what he had always done and thrown himself back into work. When the stunt acting became too challenging for him physically, he'd bought a part-share in a gym further north with Desi, his old security detail, moved out of the city and developed a vague interest in gardening.

 

Life was good and he was used to his own company. Desi and he had talked about hooking up but ultimately neither felt anything even remotely sexual for the other so they'd continued to work and drink and exercise together and left it at that.

 

Trip thought back with immense fondness to the years with Chris, following his exploits during that first, wild year through the gossip columns. Then trying to keep a respectful distance when the news had surfaced that he'd found love with Matt. Then it all went very quiet as these things tend to do when people partner up and settle down. The odd party snap of them grinning and dressed up, occasional rumpled candids of them out for a Sunday morning walk, a shot of Chris leaving the Emergency room in sunglasses which remained unexplained...

 

Now as he held the once so familiar body in his arms, Trip allowed himself to wonder. What had gone on during those intervening years? What had happened to cause that beautiful boy to turn into this haggard, sobbing wreck?

 

'Chris? You wanna tell me what's going on?' He eventually asked when the shuddering had subsided and Chris was just resting limply against him, sweaty forehead buried in his shoulder.

 

'I can't' Chris murmured into Trip's shirt.

 

Trip pushed him back, at arm's length, bracing his hands on Chris' forearms.

 

'Oh, don't give me that! I don't see you or hear from you for three years and then when I do you fall apart in front of me within seconds. You don't get to do that with me, Chris. This is me, remember?'

 

Chris gulped and pulled against Trip's grasp on his arms.

 

'You're hurting...'

 

'S-sorry...' Trip loosened his grip and glanced down. 'What is this...?' He examined his right thumb, which felt wet where it had been pressing Chris' arm. The fabric of his grey shirt bore a damp, dark stain.

 

'What the...?' Before Chris could stop him, Trip unbuttoned the sleeve and shoved it up above his elbow. He'd half expected to see angry puncture wounds, track marks, but the neat grid of cuts, some still oozing blood, some pink and healing was even more horrifying.

 

'Fuck, Chris...' Trip just gaped at him, chest heaving. 'Did you do this?'

 

Chris nodded once and lowered his eyes, his mouth beginning to set in a defiant line.

 

'Does Matt know you do this?'

 

Chris shrugged, his eyes shifting to look to the other side.

 

Trip allowed his hands to release Chris who reached for his collar, conscious that it had gaped open when Trip had been holding him. As he straightened it, Trip stayed his hand for a moment when he caught sight of the bruises by his collarbone.

 

'Chris, what's going on? Did Matt do this to you?'

 

Chris looked up in wild-eyed alarm.

 

'I have to get back on set. I'm shooting in a minute.'

 

'The fuck you are! You're coming with me.' Trip grabbed Chris' wrist and pulled him along the slabbed path away from the dumpsters and back into a nearby building. Twists and turns of cement-blocked corridor led to a blue door labelled 'Refuge Room'. Trip batted it open and huddled Chris inside. There were two high gurneys, a sink and a large first aid cabinet.

 

'Sit down.' Trip gestured to the gurney and Chris complied. Trip opened the cabinet and efficiently pulled out dressings and micropore tape.

 

'You seem to know where everything is...' Chris began in a small voice.

 

'Yeah, I've spent some time in here in the past.' Trip worked quickly and without speaking further, he dressed Chris' cuts with a large square of gauze. When he was done, he put everything back in the cabinet and sat down opposite Chris.

 

'Now, no bullshit. I have a bit of a picture in my mind of what's going on with you right now. How about you tell me where you got those bruises and if there are more?'

 

Chris breathed in as though he was about to resist, to protest, and then he caught Trip's look, concerned and hurt and perhaps a bit angry and the breath turned into a sigh.

 

'Matt.' He whispered.

 

Trip's hands clenched reflexively.

 

'Does he hit you?'

 

'Not much. He's just kind of...rough.'

 

Trip tried hard not to react but he felt himself wince as though in pain.

 

'He ever...force you...?' Trip broke off, he didn't want to think of it, his beautiful Chris, so sweet and tender and giving...

 

Chris nodded, mutely.

 

'How long's it been going on? Since the beginning?'

 

Chris shook his head.

 

'Bout a year. Since I told him I wanted to leave.'

 

Trip nodded.

 

'You told anyone else?'

 

'Who'm I gonna tell, Trip? He knows everyone, there's nothing I can do. I'd lose my job, he'd just hit me more... I'm stuck...I don't know what to do.' Chris' eyes looked blankly across at him.

 

Trip's heart broke, right there. What had happened to the sure and certain young man who had helped him through his own crisis almost seven years ago? Who was this broken person sitting before him now? He didn't recognise him, physically or emotionally. He had really thought drugs had had something to do with Chris' apparent decline. The fact that it was all the fault of one man who was supposed to love him baffled him and left him feeling so angry.

 

Trip straightened up and looked directly at Chris.

 

'Chris, I have to ask, despite the fact that your answer isn't gonna change what I'm about to do, but do you want my help?'

 

Chris' eyes widened in instinctive panic again and a slew of thoughts looked as if they shot through his mind all at once.

 

'Yes. Please help me. But I'm scared of what he'll do...'

 

'Let me deal with that. Stay here. I'm gonna get Desi to come fetch you. You remember Desi, right?'

 

Chris nodded.

 

'What about the show?'

 

Trip glanced back at him from the doorway.

 

'Fuck the show, Chris. This is your real life.'

 

***

 

As he strode angrily along the corridors, out into the backlot and around the huge hangars, Trip made three phone calls. One to Desi, who dropped everything to come and pick Chris up, one to studio security to check which location his target was in and one to a friend in the police force to briefly sketch out the situation and his immediate intention. To give the guy his due, he said the right thing and attempted to dissuade Trip but he knew it was more of a formality than anything. The police had bigger fish to fry than a single angry man who'd had the courtesy to at least give them a heads up.

 

Trip barged into studio 68 where pandemonium seemed to have broken out.

 

'...the fuck should I know?!' He heard as he entered.

 

He swiftly located Matt and sized him up as he strode out of the darkness into the lit set area. Matt looked up, confused and then alarmed as Trip bore down on him.

 

'Who the f...' He began before Trip launched into him, taking a well-judged hit to Matt's jaw.

 

Trip's voice was low and menacing, clearly audible to the entirety of the cast and crew.

 

'What makes you think you have the right to keep a person prisoner in your house, in your shitty little series, in your bed?'

 

Wallop.

 

'What the fuck didn't you understand when he told you he wanted to leave you?'

 

Wallop.

 

'What in HELL made you think you could force him to have sex with you, rape him until he's covered in bruises and he can barely sit down?'

 

Wallop. Wallop.

 

'And in whose universe do you get to turn that beautiful, brilliant, brave man into a terrified quivering wreck who slices his own arms open in a vain attempt to let out the poison and hate you have filled his heart with?!'

 

WALLOP!

 

The final hit sent Matt sprawling onto the cement floor, blood spewing from his mouth and nose.

 

Trip flexed his fist and turned to the crew, gawping dumbly at the scene in front of them.

 

'I'm sorry you had to see that but your executive producer is not a very nice person. I'd think very carefully about having him onboard your show, generous payroll or no generous payroll. Perhaps the folks in make-up would care to fill you in on exactly how often they have to cover Chris' bruises and scars before a shoot.'

 

Trip swung round to Matt, who was dazedly trying to get up off the floor.

 

'You will have Chris' things here for me to pick up at eight tomorrow morning. There will be no repercussions from this, on either side. Chris will be taking a break for as long as he needs it. On full pay. If he chooses to return, that's up to him but I suggest you find another gig.'

 

Trip nodded to the director, an old friend of Marco and Bev's who was staring in awe at the performance. Trip knew he was already working on the script rewrites in his head which would accommodate Chris' sudden departure without compromising the storylines.

 

'Not AIDS.' He said firmly as he stalked out. 'Too much of a cliche.'

 

***

 

'Yeah, Raph? I'm sorry 'bout that. Something came up. Something pretty important. Can we reschedule?'

 

Trip spoke rapidly into his cellphone as he rearranged the meeting which had fortuitously brought him to the studio canteen in the first place.

 

'Yeah. That was me. Word got out already, huh? Yeah, you're right, he was an asshole. No, no details right now, I have to go sort something else out. Well, someone... Yes, him. OK, I will. Take care.'

 

Trip hung up the call and made his way out to the parking lot. He located his dark grey Mercedes and pipped the locks. He missed his old VW bus but the elegant lines and power steering of his new car somehow suited him now. Slipping into the leather seat gave him a delicious sense of luxury and as he purred the engine into action he began to think hard.

 

Desi had fetched Chris as requested and driven him straight out of town to Trip's house. When he'd called, Chris was sitting on Trip's sunny back porch with a glass of orange juice. Desi reported that he seemed tired but calm.

 

Trip couldn't get back there quickly enough. He had no idea what he was going to do now, what was going to happen. Other than offer Chris a place to stay and fetch his things for him from the studio tomorrow, he figured he'd just have to wait and see.

 

The freeway wasn't too busy as it was only just after midday and he made it home in under half an hour. Desi's car was in the drive so Trip parked on the road and almost ran to the front door. Banging the screen open, he slotted his key and stepped into the shaded hallway.

 

'Hello? Anyone home?' He called cheerfully.

 

'In here.' Desi said softly. Trip entered the living room where Desi was standing and saw Chris laid on the couch, fast asleep.

 

'He crashed out just after you called.' Desi said.

 

'OK. Thanks, Des, thanks for stepping in.'

 

'No problem. Everything OK?'

 

Trip furrowed his brow.

 

'Not really. He say anything?'

 

Desi shook his head gravely 'He just said he'd had a rough time lately. He looks like shit. What's going on?'

 

'Oh, you know, your basic Hollywood nightmare abusive relationship...'

 

'Drugs?' Desi asked, glancing down at Chris.

 

'I don't think so, no.' Trip bit his lip as he looked at Chris. Beneath the careworn face, a hint of the younger Chris was still discernable in sleep.

 

Desi huffed 'With Matt, there's always drugs.'

 

'Really?'

 

'Oh, yeah.'

 

'Well, maybe that explains a bit. But it doesn't excuse anything. He's been self-harming...'

 

'Who, Chris?' Desi sounded disbelieving.

 

'Yeah.'

 

'Shit. That's hard to believe. He was always so together'

 

'Mmm.'

 

'Anyways, I'd better be getting back to work. OK if I head off?'

 

'Yeah, thanks so much for stepping in, Des. I really appreciate it. I needed to deal with the guy.'

 

'You give him a piece of your mind?'

 

'And my right hook. Several times.'

 

'You called Tonio?'

 

Trip laughed softly. 'It was the last thing I did before decking the fucker.'

 

'Good, then we're cool.' Desi cupped Trip's shoulder in his meaty hand as he turned to leave. 'Take care of him. But go easy, he seems pretty fragile right now.'

 

Trip nodded. 'Yeah. I got that.'

 

***

 

Trip brewed himself a cup of tea and settled down to watch over Chris until he awoke. He felt in need of a rest himself: the day hadn't exactly panned out the way he'd expected it to.

 

At around three, Chris began to stir, moaning and whimpering in his sleep before slapping the back of his hand soundly on the side of the sofa and jolting himself awake.

 

'Whu-huh?' He sat up in confusion until he caught sight of Trip and his shoulders visibly dropped. 'Oh, hey.'

 

'Hey. You have a good sleep?'

 

'Yeh. Thanks.' Chris blinked blearily, rubbing his face and swinging his legs to the floor.

 

'What happened? At the studio, I mean?' Chris' mouth seemed dry and he scratched at the dressing on his arm.

 

'You wanna drink?' Chris nodded and Trip went through to the kitchen, returning with a glass of water.

 

'You're safe, that's all you need to know.'

 

Chris sipped the water, looking worried. 'I need to know what happened. He'll be looking for me. I need to be ready.'

 

'He won't be looking for you.'

 

'You don't know him, Trip! He will! And he'll find me, and he knows people...'

 

Chris' voice began to spin higher in the way that Trip remembered it did when he was anxious.

 

'Chris. I know people. You know people: you know me. I made absolutely sure that he won't be bothering you again and that you'll have your stuff back first thing tomorrow. You can stay here for as long as you need to, the spare room is made up. You're on a paid break from the show and the whole crew has been made aware of the situation.'

 

Chris just stared at him.

 

'What did you do? Did you punch him?'

 

'Several times.'

 

'Oh my god.' Chris began to giggle nervously.

 

It was the most beautiful sound Trip had heard all day.

 

'I guess I've been a bit of an idiot?' Chris bit his lip as he looked over at Trip.

 

'No. I don't think so. Why d'you say that?'

 

'I feel stupid. How did I get into that situation?'

 

'Power. People in this town know how to use their power against you. It's nasty. Money, position, influence, physical strength...' Trip broke off, aware of how he'd used his own prowess in that department earlier but also how Matt's had been used against Chris.

 

'How're you feeling?'

 

'Tired. Really, really tired. I don't sleep too well these days.'

 

'Understandable.'

 

'Trip... I'm sorry.' Chris leaned forward and put his glass down on the coffee table.

 

'What for?'

 

'For leaving you.'

 

'Oh, god, let's not do this now. Not after what you've just been through. Please, Chris.’

 

'I need to do it now. I didn't think I did but I do. I need to do this for me. I need to talk to someone. I've spent the last three years either choosing not to talk to anyone about anything serious or being prevented from talking to anyone... I have to talk, Trip, I'm sorry. I need to..'

 

'Okay, okay, that's okay, you can talk. You just don't have to apologise to me. It's a long time in the past. Go ahead, talk. I'm listening.'

 

'I do have to apologise because that's where it all began. I had everything and I threw it all away because I thought there was more! I had you and you were perfect and we had the best life together and I thought I was missing out on something and I left. I left you, the best man I have ever met, let alone dated, just to go get laid by a bunch of dicks... Literally... And then to end up trapped in a relationship with a man who I hated and who hit me and hurt me and...forced me...and I couldn't get away because I was so scared of what he might do and I didn't have anyone I could call and all the people I knew were his friends and I-I...' Chris' voice had been rising, both in pitch and volume until it finally cracked and he was sobbing again, loud and messy this time, his whole face buried in his hands.

 

Trip ached to go to him, to hold him and kiss him, to rediscover the familiarity of Chris' body. To fix him.

 

But things had changed.

 

He'd had to learn to be alone again. To build an image of himself as a strong, single man approaching middle age. Sure, his time with Chris had given him more confidence in himself, the surgery he'd had a year after that memorable night at the SAGA awards had solved some of his body issues but aside from a couple of short-lived liaisons, Trip had decided he was better suited to being single. He knew that plenty of guys found him attractive. Guys who, since his very public time with Chris, knew what they were getting into. He was gracious and flattered and always headed home to his little deco haven alone.

 

'Trip? Will you just...hold me...please?'

 

Chris' plaintive voice broke into his thoughts and he realised that he'd just been sitting there while Chris sobbed his heart out in front of him.

 

'I can't, Chris. I can't do it again.' And he realised with awful clarity that despite everything, he had never stopped loving Chris, never got over him, never been able to process the breakup and he just couldn't get close now for fear of never being able to let go.

 

Chris’ sobs grew more heartfelt and he pulled his knees up to his chest like a child, rocking and shaking.

 

Trip rose to his feet.

 

‘Jesus, Chris... I don’t know what to do! I just wanted to get you out of danger, give you somewhere safe to stay. I wasn’t expecting this! I don’t know what to do! I can thump your asshole of a boyfriend for you but I wasn’t ready for the rest of this, not now... I-I can’t...’

 

Chris raised his head from his knees, his eyes red and streaming.

 

‘I just wanted you to hold me, that’s all...’

 

‘But that’s not all for me! I don’t want to hold you again because I know that if I put my arms around you now, to give you the comfort you need, I won’t be able to let you go, Chris. I have to think of myself. I can’t do this again... I just can’t... I can’t...’

 

Chris stared in silence, his breath ragged, his eyes wide.

 

‘And don’t look at me like that!’

 

‘Take me back, Trip. Please! I want to try again. I’ll do anything.. anything! Just please! I love you, I always have, that never changed...’

 

‘Then why did you leave me?’ Trip was still standing, slowly losing the battle with his better judgement.

 

‘I don’t know! But look at all the good it did me!’ he gestured ineffectually at himself.

 

There was a long, long pause as Chris looked up at Trip and Trip gazed down at him.

 

This was the man who’d shown Trip how to be himself, how to be proud of who he was, taught him that he was worthy of love. This was the man who’d given him the strength to carry on with his life alone. Now Chris had been cut down in much the same way as Trip had, all those years ago, now he needed that same support, Trip couldn’t deny him that.

 

And he was still so beautiful.

 

Trip reached a hand out to Chris, pulling him up from the sofa and enfolding him into his arms, they still fit together so perfectly.

 

Chris began to cry softly, repeating ‘thank you, thank you...’ over and over again. Trip closed his eyes and nuzzled into Chris’ hair, cradling the back of his head as he murmured

 

‘I’ve missed you so much, babe... so much...’

 

FIN


End file.
